“It wasn’t the armadillo’s fault. Just a case of wrong place, wrong, well, you know,” she said. “We had to do it though. The way it just wandered in. Besides, we hadn’t eaten in days. We live like this sometimes. Why do you think the coyotes stopped eating all the dogs in the subdivision? Why do you think the cats can prowl the backyards in peace once again? Why do you think the deer have stopped stalking your petunias? We keep watch. You might not think it, living here, but it isn’t always easy getting to the supermarket. So, well, we just keep watch.”
The persistent magnetism of limestone resolves a deep need for perspective. The muddy perch and thrust of egret wing and falling rock sweep and surrender. Each glittering shell explodes beyond the bluff. And see how the years have sustained us. Always trust that I will hold you bright as every shining blessing. If the bird could emerge from the Great River now, would it think to eat us all, or would it bask in wonder, stalk us in disbelief? We rest as even the storm refuses to cross the river to disturb us. We hold fast to the easy burning of these years to know we are more than one day, one season. We gather folded in tones and shadows unknown to us. A weathered pink. The tattered green. The softened gray. You are the lovely ones who saved me then, and save me still. We are carried to a peace beyond shadows and color. We let loose the secrets inside us. Our vast luminous love. This is how family is found, made, claimed. Once home, the hummingbird touches my ankle, knee, thigh. The blue meerkat stands still and tall to open the door to now, and to the still and silent sadness of the long letting go.
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Lock, lock, and unlock. Every door a danger. But beyond, a multitude of voices, an exactitude of each. I listen as they’re calling. Each voice in my own throat. Subtle clear collages blessed with ambiguity. The written note. The campfire. The seed planted. The curled chameleon tale. The dragon. The glistening turquoise egg of it all. […]